


Reach For the Sky

by Bremmatron33



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Mildly Dubious Consent, Sticky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 00:10:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17253962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bremmatron33/pseuds/Bremmatron33
Summary: Back on Cybertron Ratchet's settling in just fine but there are thoughts of his that just refuse to, till his favorite cowboy wannabee comes to settle them for him.





	Reach For the Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fuzipenguin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/gifts).



> Happy Secret Solenoid Fuizpenguin. Hope you like it!

Ratchet hadn’t been back on Cybertron long...maybe a few months. Having Kup and Springer’s small team replace him made much more sense. Kup being a military bot, Springer being young and up for the task. It all made sense...but it still stung to be home.

Not the horrible ever-present sting that he’d thought it would be but a subtler one. One that reminded him of not only Optimus’ death...but the death of most of his friends as well and with Cybertron still fairly empty there wasn’t even much he could do to keep himself busy. Just share the small hospital with Triage, Hoist, and Knock Out and spend his nights drinking. If he was being honest with himself despite knowing Triage and Hoist better he spent more time at the bar with Knock Out. While the Con was still often catty and a bit of a brat, without his airs he was a decent listener, a generous acquaintance, and damn fine to look at with his new Cybertronian alt. With the bars the younger medic took him to though, there were plenty of fresh chassis to fawn over.

The temptation was there to be sure but Ratchet continued to tell himself that he wasn’t that mech any more. He was old, bitter, his spark just as empty and cold as his apartment when all the fun was said and done. What right did he have fantasizing anyway? Optimus’ death was still far too fresh, only three or so years ago. If he was honestly thinking of other mechs already, had he ever really loved him. The rational part of Ratchet’s processor said, of course, Optimus was gone, likely for good this time, so he needed to move on and despite dropping very obvious hints and a few...very intimate nights they never really had much of a relationship. Emotionally? Certainly. Beyond that? Well, Ratchet hadn’t exactly been monogamous to put it politely. Neither him nor Optimus. Unfortunately, Ratchet’s spark spoke louder, insisting that if they had the time and the peace they could have settled into something proper. So his berth stayed empty.

* * *

 

That day he was alone in the hospital. With all the construction being done and so few reliable healers, it wasn’t a rare occurrence that they’d have to split up. The young trainees and their mentors stationed at each of the burgeoning cities were good enough for most day to day injuries of healing civilians and injured workers but bigger accidents did happen. Usually, it was only Triage and Knock Out on call considering they were young and fast but he and Hoist were well trusted so they had their own calls.

Needless to say alone in an almost empty hospital Ratchet wasn’t feeling the most jovial. With all the patients taken care of for the moment, and any and all tests run there wasn’t much left to do save for what he hated the most. With a loud huff, Ratchet sat down to the staggering pile of prosthetics and replacement part files. As a mech of his age and, unfortunately, handling reconstruction wasn’t exactly his favorite thing to do. It hadn’t been even in his golden years and if there was one bright side it was how guiltless he felt shoving any and all reconstruction work off on Knock Out and his nimble digits.

Thanks to Triage’s impatience and Hoists own stiff digits Ratchet wasn’t wholly guiltfree though. With such a high demand for new parts and only one medic really efficient at the task there wasn’t a cycle Knock Out didn’t go home with a subspace loaded with patient files and materials. It left him so exhausted that finding the mech passed out in a pile of ball bearings was a fairly common occurrence. An amusing and slightly depressing sight. The ex-con wasn’t without his own war wounds too. The long hours making his already fried circuits even worse. Knock Out hid his shakes quite well but usually by the time the two hit the bars the young speedster could barely hold a pint without spilling half of it trying to take a sip. It was an easy fix, just a simple surgery, the other medic saying near likewise on the issue of Ratchet’s own servos, just a simple restoration, but neither mech had the time nor the trust in each other to go through with anything. So Ratchet built a few jobs when he found the time. Even if it took him twice as long.

He had his optics glued to the grinder when a familiar voice caught his attention. “Sunshine! What’re you doin’ here all by your lonesome?” While the medic didn’t bother looking away from his work there was a slight crackle in his spark.

“Servos needed elsewhere Wheeljack. I may be old but I can hold down the fort just as well as I ever could.” Ratchet heard the other mech chuckle.

“Never said you couldn’t. Just thought by the time I got back around there’d be a few more faces here. Never thought one of them would be yours though. What happened to earth?”

“I have to say likewise. I figured you wouldn’t stick around here long considering there’s nothing to do. You’ve never been one to care about responsibilities.”

“Traveling is what the Commander asked me to do. Is that what brought you back? Responsibilities?” Ratchet sighed, he’d hoped Wheeljack would have dropped the question when he didn’t bother to answer it.

“Yes. Too many returning civilians and too few healers. My replacements are much better suited to the task.” Ratchet heard Wheeljack near, catching a whiff of energon as he did and something frankly disgusting. So, Wheeljack hadn’t just come in to waste his time. Considering how nonchalant he was acting the wound could wait a moment while he finished beveling an edge. If he left it be he’d forget about it and Knock Out would throw a fit if he spotted it during installation. The slagging perfectionist.

“Hmm. Well, it’s good to have you back. Mind looking at my arm?”

“In a moment. Just let me finish this up. Feel free to grab yourself some painkillers if you need them.”

“Take your time Doc.” Ratchet felt his spark flux appreciating the mechs familiar drawl.

Thank Primus it was just the two of them. Ratchet hated setting a bad example far more than listening to his colleagues bitch but he really hated listening to white noise.

With the panel’s edge perfectly smooth, Ratchet set the grinder down and stood to take a look at what he was dealing with. “Sweet Solus Prime, Wheeljack!” Ratchet was able to spot the issue from across the medbay. The alien creature still latched onto Wheeljack’s arm, thrashing and buzzing with rage as Wheeljack continuously twisted the knife he’d rammed into the beast’s back. “What in the universe is that and what made you think to bring it into my medbay?!”

A slag eating grin slipped onto Wheeljack’s face as he stabbed at the creature latched to his arm again. “Oh, this little guy? Think he followed me home. Some sort of pest probably, likes the taste of energon. Luckily I’ve got a decent autopilot. Thing attacked me in my recharge. Wouldn’t have been able to land and keep it from sucking me dry.”

“Just kill it!”

“You think I ain’t been trying? It’s tougher than it looks.” With a growling sigh, Ratchet ran to get a hazard container while Wheeljack yucked it up.

“Honestly Wheeljack you could have said something! That thing could have spores!”

Wheeljack verbally waved him off. “It ain’t that kind or organic. It’s techno based. I’ve been checking on the colony worlds. Seeing what’s left. What they managed to rebuild. What new ones have popped up thanks to the Cons cyberforming. Gotta say, some of ‘em? Pretty nice. Even the Con places have cooled down. They want nothing to do with us as long as Autobots are in charge but they’re happy to take as many mechs as they can support no matter who they fought for. Nice to know the leaders aren’t as big of lunatics as old Megs was. They might be convinced down the line as long as Magnus keeps things clear of turning back to the old ways.”

“Fascinating.” Ratchet was honestly interested. Perhaps when things returned to a more stable normal he could take a trip. Knock Out once remarked on a drunken breakdown that Cybertron wasn’t what he hoped, that he ached for Velocitron. It didn’t sound like the sort of place for an old mech like himself but it was an idea. The thought of travel and Wheeljack’s tales was only a blip on his processor though as he freed his scalpel with a swish and jammed it under a set of brilliant blue fangs.

The ugly creature put up of one pit of a fight but with Wheeljack leveraging it from the back and him tackling it from the front, Ratchet had the frantic beast trapped in a hazard cube in no time. The two watched it throw itself violently at each wall of the cube, the multiple stab wounds, and nicks from the medic’s scalpel having done absolutely nothing to its vitals despite the pooling of energon at the bottom of the cube.

“I’m going to get some tape. Keep a close optic on it.” Wheeljack gave Ratchet a two-digit salute.

“Yanno, now that it’s off my arm...it’s almost kind of cute. Whaddya say Doc?” Ratchet rolled his optics as he headed to the cabinets his tape. Returning with a canister of freeze foam and his wire injector as well.

“I say that you’re still nothing but a lunatic but if it gets the thing out of my hospital you can take it with you. I’m sure Custom will have a few words to say about bringing back alien pests. Same with Calyx but hey if you want to risk Cybertrons burgeoning ecosystem by all means.”

Wheeljack took the tape and turned his frame to make the medic’s job easier. “You’re no fun Doc. I was gonna give it to Brainstorm. He’s still got clearance for slag like this.” Ratchet responded with an almost terrified scoff. Wheeljack chuckled as wrapped a few layers of tape around his new pet.

“Only Primus knows why. You need anything else Wheeljack?” Wheeljack looked over his sutured up arm. The gash would heal itself in a week or so and then he could buff down the overgrowth.

“Well, not much left for you to do...but I did promise two fine ladies that you might have a job for them.”

That left Ratchet in a bit of shock. “Medics? I thought you said the colony worlds wanted nothing to do with us.”

“Eh, government-wise sure. Doesn’t mean I didn’t get some personal takers on my offer. They’re waiting downstairs.”

“Wheejack!” Ratchet sputtered, “Why in the world did you leave them alone?! You could have brought them up with you.”

Wheeljack shrugged as he stood and headed to the exit. “Well, one of ‘em doesn’t exactly fit in the building too well.”

* * *

 

It had been a long cycle. Lifeline and Moonheart were both reliable well-trained femmes so he’d spent most of the time just getting them into the systems and giving them a simple standard test to make sure they were up to snuff. They both passed with flying colors, even the impromptu academic portion and he’d told Lifeline she was happy to start tomorrow at the hospital... but finding a place for Moonheart was going to be trouble. With her native Unexian size she towered over most mecha and despite being very congenial, her Decepticon brand and...fashion sense would leave many unsettled by her. He figured a call to the prison would be in order, it would be the perfect place for her but considering at the moment the prison pretty much held only Deception officers and high-risk mecha she might be a bit too sympathetic to the old insurgents that took control of her home planet. Still, it was worth a try at least.  
“Hey, sunshine, your drinks going flat.” Somehow despite being exhausted, he’d ended up at a bar with Wheeljack. Perhaps it was his interest in the colony worlds or the rather present ache in his spark but somehow he’d agreed. “Thinking about work?”

Ratchet sipped at his drink. “Never a moment when I’m not.” he felt Wheeljack slip an arm around his middle. If it wasn’t so well hidden by the bar stool he would have brushed him off...but since it was...he let the other mech’s servo rest on his thigh.

“I brought you here to relax, catch up, tell me what the others are up to. How’s Bee? He growing into whatever Magnus has him doin'? Arcee holding up? Bulk said she was back into teaching.”

Ratchet took a large gulp of his drink. He’d been...less than social since returning home. Relying mostly on word of mouth for updates. “They’re...fine as far as I know. I have been busy Wheeljack.”

“Sure. Managed to catch up with anyone?”

“No. Unfortunately.”

“Right.” Ratchet felt his face heat as Wheeljack’s servo started to slowly pet his thigh. “Seems your return’s been pretty boring.”

“Yes. You could say that. Things need to be done. It’ll calm down eventually.”

“‘Course” Wheeljack ordered another shot. His fifth to Ratchet’s one drink. Wheeljack was a mech who could hold his liquor but he was a horny drunk. Usually, there was nothing wrong with that.

Except it was him his servo was groping and Ratchet had already made peace with himself. Old and bitter. “Wheeljack-”

“You wanna go back with me to my ship, Doc? I know it’s not exactly much...but I promise we got the only pest in there.”

“I-I-I need to be up early. Hoist wants to bring in Caustech to deep clean surgery and ICU. We had some rust cases.” Ratchet hated lying, especially with such a disprovable excuse but it was hard saying no to Wheeljack. Even harder when he wanted to say yes.”

“I didn’t want to invite myself over to your place...but it’s an option. I don’t even have to stay long. I think you know what I’m looking for. It’s been a lonely trip ‘cross the cosmos.” Ratchet shuddered as Wheeljack’s digits dipped into the join of his thigh, as they lazily plucked at stiff cables. He nearly broke his glass with how hard he slammed it down on the bartop.

“I-I need to go Wheeljack. I need to go.” In an embarrassed rush, Ratchet threw down some credits and left before Wheeljack could stop him.

Alone in the privacy of his apartment Ratchet stumbled into his small washrack and leaned heavily against the lightly embossed wall. Servo already slipping under his codpiece to rub at the well-hidden seams of his modesty paneling. Wheeljack had barely been teasing at the bar but his sordid imagination had taken him the rest of the way on the journey home. What could have happened if he’d allowed it to.

His valve and spark truly ached now, both pounding in time and begging to be touched. There hadn’t been a time when Ratchet had damned his libido but Primus the time had come. He’d been so good, kept his foolish wants at bay, but he couldn’t stand it any longer.

Succumbing to the memories of their brief fling on earth, Ratchet felt his panels pop, slid back to let his plug rest against his palm. With little care he wrapped his digits around it, giving it a few short tugs as it continued to fill out. The feeling of his digits no match for Wheeljack’s mouth, his tight intake, his studded glossia.

“Ah, Primus!” Ratchet’s crying wail was almost painful, filled with such desperation. He gripped his spike harder as it really started to fill his palm. The dry metal hot and rough going but not for long. Lubricant flooded free from the head of his plug, leaking out over the back of his servo, Ratchet ground his palm against the tip teasing himself more than anything as he gathered what was left.

His ventilations quickened to a ragged state as nearly matching the pace of his servo. Ratchet bit through the slight twinges of pain in his wrist, the raw wires rubbing against each other as he worked himself over. It was almost good enough. Almost acceptable. Almost.

Ratchet’s backstrut went stiff as he overloaded, deep pink transfluid smattering against the wall. Ratchet huffed and groaned, the deed done but nothing satisfied. His frame and spark still burned with want, with desire, but he was far too exhausted to try again. Certainly knowing he’d just fail.

Being the responsible bitter old mech he was Ratchet turned his shower on to full blast and basked in the warmth of the solvent.

* * *

 

Ratchet didn’t know how much time had passed. A few cycles? A week? Two weeks? Either way depression had set in pretty hard and work was the only cure. He’d been staying later and later at the hospital and while the pile of replacement part patient files had disappeared...so had most of Ratchet metaphorically speaking.

He spent most of that morning mixing new prescriptions and other standard formulas with Substrate. Eavesdropping on Triage as he desperately tried to flirt with Knock Out. Getting a warm cube and a light back rub from Hoist every so often. Despite his dour mood, it was getting better being home. The small group stationed at the hospital weren’t the ideal group of mechs Ratchet would have chosen to spend his time with but they were slowly becoming...something comforting. Perhaps it was just the idea of peace truly setting in, or the fact that the group had no real chain of command yet keeping everyone on even footing but it was a place Ratchet appreciated no matter the reason. It felt...normal and he’d sorely missed normal.

Without warning the door to the main lab slammed open, Lifeline the culprit. The femme had been working the front which meant someone had called in. “Emergency. Bar brawl in the Aegis quarter. Knock Out go over there and calm some idiot hotshots and reset some noses.”

Knock Out set down the leg he was building with a sigh, already pushing back his seat. “Any real damage Lifeline?”

“Barkeep says there’s energon on the walls and some bodies on the floor. He’s handling it the best he can but there’s a lot of them. Young, drunk, and stupid!” The femme had a tone of a mech who while new, knew the situation quite well enough.

“I’ll go with ya’ K.O...don't need you getting hurt.” Triage quickly tossed the tools he was cleaning back into the hydroclave.

Knock Out didn’t even look at the other mech as he picked up his supply satchel from the back cabinet. “Of course Triage~. How could I expect any less?” Triage’s goofy smile was the last thing Ratchet saw before both medics were off.

Substrate scoffed at his side. Ratchet shifted his gaze to the other mech. “Leave him alone. They’re young. You had your workplace flings in your time.”

“Not with a mech whose response to a fling unknowingly insulting their dead... partner... was to force feed them acid till their tank dissolved. Then offer the same mech the opportunity to continue the relationship as long as they don’t go to the police.”

“Well,” Ratchet knew how ludicrous he sounded defending Knock Out but knowing how close he’d been with Breakdown, how much of a blackout drunk he was, and his...history...it really wasn’t all that bad. Not to mention Ratchet could honestly admit that if anyone he chose to see decided to air their issues with Optimus in front of him they would get their face punched in. “At least he didn’t kill him. You should be more concerned about the mental state of Flashburst. They still hook up.”

“Disgusting. How’s that test coming?” Ratchet handed over the flask of bright coral liquid and his notes.

“Had to up the ezro thanks to the weather. Shouldn’t be an issue big scale though.”

“Perfect. All clear then. Have fun holding down the fort.” With the small scales finished Substrate left to go start the actual batches. Ratchet headed to the small fridge pulled out a cube of energon and checked his schedules as he drank. He didn’t have any appointments till later that evening. He could go home for a bit, leave Lifeline to deal with the walk-ins since the day seemed to be quite a slow one. There was a chance of Triage and Knock Out bringing in a few mechs though, things could quickly get out of servo if the fight was brought back with them.

Deciding to stay at least another hour just in case Ratchet settled down with a datapad. The lazy hum of the building his only company. Endless empty words trying to gain meaning as he scrolled through the news feed. Things were going well, rocky but well. That really was all anyone could ask for at this point.

Time passed slowly. The warmth of room putting Ratchet into a slight fog as he scrolled through an academic paper Moonheart had mentioned off servo. The Unexians were quite close to manufacturing their own t-cogs. The historical research and testing were frankly barbaric considering it had been headed by Shockwave but the new process was ultimately tame and fascinating.

So he was frankly a little startled when the bay door was knocked open. Ratchet turned, expecting Lifeline but getting...Wheeljack? “Wheejack? What are you doing here?” Usually, that was never a necessary question Wheeljack was an engineer in the time when he wasn’t cruising around the galaxy and hanging out in that circle of mechs was a death sentence waiting to happen. Except...he looked absolutely fine. Better than fine actually. Aside from a few new war scars he was sporting a fresh paint job and buffed to a shine any speedster would take a jealous second look at. “And what are you wearing?”

Wheeljack flicked his long copper duster with a smirk. “Oh, this? Got it from Junkion. It’s a new trend among the young ones. They got a lot of mixed sparks up there now. Unfortunately, their new planet’s more dust than junk but it’s a work in progress. Keeps grit out of the inner workings. They like a lotta open machinery there. Figured it might help me with all the construction going on. I may not be the cleanest speedster but I do like clean fans.”

“Well,” Ratchet’s processor stalled as he thought of a retort that wasn’t so obviously smitten. “At least it’s functional. So what are you doing here? You don’t look injured in the slightest.”

“Well, the way you left me in the bar left something to be desired...and a chat with a sly little red fox gave the impression that you didn’t really feel like running from me.” Ratchet felt his spark flux.

“Y-you should know better than to take gossip as fact Wheeljack. It was nothing against you or...us I just-”

“Save it Doc.” Wheeljack strode towards him, a devilish smile on his face. He leaned down, elbows on the table Ratchet was seated behind. “This is a stickup.”

“A what?!” Ratchet stood ready to escort Wheeljack out. Normally he would be willing to entertain the other mech in his strange jokes but not at work. He was countered by a blaster to his middle. Except it wasn’t live, pit it wasn’t even loaded.

“A stickup is where I just take what I want. In this case you. Now you can come nicely or we can do this the hard way.” Ratchet’s spark thrummed embarrassingly. There wasn’t a chance Wheeljack didn’t see it through the seams of his armor.

“Wheeljack I’m at work!” Ratchet hissed through clenched denta Wheeljack didn’t seem moved by this fact whatsoever.

“Reach for the sky, Doc.” Ratchet was prodded in his middle again but as he went to push it away Wheeljack slapped an inhibitor cuff on his right wrist.

“WHEELJACK!” Wheeljack chuckled.

“I warned ya’.” It didn’t take much for Wheeljack to get the other cuff on. “Now, are we gonna have to do this the hard way?”

“Get these off me immediately! What if a patient comes in!” Wheeljack shoved him lightly back to one of the private rooms.

“You got two other capable medics more than ready to take that on.” Stepping around the desk Wheeljack gave Ratchet another shove to the door.

“W-we might have wounded coming in at any moment. I promise we can talk after my shift. I’m sorry I blew you off but-”

“This ain’t about apologies, Doc. This ain’t even about me. It’s about you. You need a break from yourself. I’m just here to help.” Grabbing hold of the cuffs Wheeljack shoved Ratchet the rest of the way, pinning him against the wall. Leaning in close he dropped his voice to a whisper. “If you tell me to go I’ll go but I don’t want to hear your excuses.”

Ratchet turned his face away to hide his blush. This close he could smell the strong scent of Wheeljack’s aroma oil already making his circuits live with static. The overpowering dusky scent all he could focus on. “I’d hardly call them ex-” Wheeljack cut him off with a kiss and a growl of his engine. Ratchet didn’t even think to fight back, servos grabbing at the mech’s duster with a slight appreciative moan.

Wheeljack pulled back slightly, a thin strand of oral lubricant breaking free as he smiled. “They are from you, Doc. And you know it.” Ratchet looked from the mech’s stupid grin to the floor, to the bay doors, and back again.

“Thirty minutes. And if someone comes in it’s over.”

“Yeehaw.” Wheeljack reached over and opened the door, taking no time as soon as it was unlocked to shove Ratchet inside, grabbing Ratchet’s hips and practically throwing him onto the pallet. Ratched muffled a gasp as he landed, Wheeljack’s servo already groping his codpiece, deft digits slipping under it and teasing static coated seams. “You need to take better care of yourself Doc.Gotta treat yourself every now and then. Indulge in those...guilty habits.”

Ratchet ground against Wheeljack’s servo, the warmth from the mech’s palm so inviting. “Sometimes the things we want aren’t good for us.”

“We all gotta die sometime Doc. Might as well enjoy ourselves while we’re here. If you need me to ease your thoughts~” Wheeljack pushed Ratchet flat back against the pallet, grabbing the middle of the inhibitor cuffs and locking them on some equipment. “There you are Doc. Look at me being the lecherous brute. Taking advantage of you.”

Ratchet groaned as Wheeljack spread his legs and buried his face in the medic’s crotch. He struggled in the bonds for barely a second, wanting to grab at the other mech’s helm as he started to kiss and lick his covered array. “Primus Wheeljack.”

“Come on Doc, steed’s ready. Give me my saddle.” Ratchet snapped his codpiece and panels back, giving Wheeljack easier access. The mech happily diving in. Ratchet hadn’t been as in the mood like he’d been after the bar incident but that wasn’t the case for long.

Wheeljack hummed and purred his engine as he trailed his glossia along the soft lips of Ratchet’s valve, Sucking them between his own lips as he dipped his glossia deeper till Ratchet was arching against him. “Hmm, I love making you horny Doc, always feel appreciated.”

“Giddy up down there then. I said thirty minutes.” Ratchet could barely get the line out his intake was so tight with static, his face too hot from...it wasn’t guilt, he wasn’t feeling guilty like he thought he would, he couldn’t describe the feeling really. Something akin to embarrassment, a little shame. Interfacing at work was things young mechs did, he should know better, act better, but Primus strike him down for lying if he said he didn’t love it.

“Whatever you need, Doc.” Slipping one servo from Ratchet’s thigh Wheeljack put his digits to a better task, slicked by the budding sheen of lubricant he lightly fragged the old mech’s port with one as he loved the finer folds of Ratchet’s valve. Nipping and sucking a buzzing anterior node every now and then to really get the mech to squirm.

Ratchet groaned with want as static and sensory inputs zipped up his frame. It had been quite some time since someone else had touched him and he felt a bit of a horny fool trying to get Wheeljack’s digits deeper like an impatient new mold who wasn’t skilled enough to savor a good frag. He was having little luck with the task regardless, one servo still pinning him down and his bad back.

Thankfully Wheeljack took pity on him. He sunk his digits deeper, the rough treatment making Ratchet’s thighs quake. His calipers clenching down and the fine inner mesh oozing lubricant and transfluid. Slick now, he slipped another digit into Ratchet’s port and started to drag and scissor his digits.

Ratchet’s hips bucked as Wheeljack’s touch ground down on sensitive spots, the other mech quickly taking notice and giving them extra attention till the medic was struggling in his bonds to keep from squirming. The lines of static and charge inching along his metal making his spark feel too full like it would burst at any moment. Ratchet growled into his shoulder. “Wheeljack~”

Wheeljack pulled back, his lips coated in a light pink sheen. “Yeah, Doc?”

“Get in the damn saddle already!”

“Now Doc, you know the importance of foreplay as an older mech, but,” Wheeljack transformed his own codpiece and panels back. Cycling open the aperture of his plug housing. “I’ll give it to you rough and dirty.” Wheeljack slapped the side of Ratchet’s thigh hard enough to smudge spots off his white paint as he slipped his cord through sticky valve mesh, slicking up his plug and relishing in the feeling as the older mech groaned beneath him.

Filled out, Wheeljack held Ratchet still and sunk himself in halfway. The mech’s port tightening around him already. They both shuddered in pleasure, Wheeljack sighing. “Pit Ratch, been a long time?” Before he could respond Wheeljack smacked Ratchet’s aft, thrusting deeper till his whole cord was enveloped by warm buzzing mesh. Wheeljack’s head lolled back as he moaned. “Primus~ You feel just as good as I remember.”

“Wheeljack!” Ratchet gasped, his engine roaring as his back arched to meet Wheeljack’s thrust. Even with his vents stalling Wheeljack pounded into him, taking only a few klicks to get up a good pace even in Ratchet’s tight valve.

Wheeljack gave Ratchet’s aft another good slap. “Yeah, just like this. Fast and dirty. Just the way you need it.”

“Ah~” Ratchet continued to gasp as his frame quickly warmed, his spark really starting to flux and pound in his chest, on the brink just as badly as Ratchet himself was. He wished he could last longer, knew he could last longer but Wheeljack wasn’t letting up and Primus he did really need this! So he gave in when he felt his plates start to jutter and the fog in his mind grew too thick.

Overload sent spark energy snapping down his frame and a billion of inputs rushing up till Ratchet’s mind was nothing but fractured code and pleasure. Wheeljack only sending him more and more as his hips continued to buck and rut, striking the back of the medic’s port again and again and dragging over desperately hungry sensors as he pulled out from the tight bite of Ratchet’s valve.

It was too much to handle after depriving himself for so long. His last memory Wheeljack huffing and whispering gently how good it was to have him back.

By the time he onlined and was rushing out of the room to make himself look presentable he found the hospital dark. The only mech still there Lifeline who was working on a thin arm. She put a servo on his arm as he wandered over to her looking dumbfounded.

“Ratchet! You’re awake. We got nervous when your friend said you fainted. Knock Out ran a few tests and said you were fine so I just picked up your appointments but I stayed to make sure you woke up. Would you like me to run you a few other tests?”

Ratchet tried not to choke on his embarrassment, and secretly his cheeky pride at not getting caught fragging on the job. Looks like there were perks to being an old mech after all. “N-no, thank you Lifeline but this old mech is just going to go home for a long hot shower.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments, requests are always appreciated and Fuzi I hope you like your other gift too!


End file.
